About
At the edge of the world, where roads fade and names crumble… the Lands of Uatan stretch out, vast and fragmented, like a dream that has forgotten itself.
Once, the fabric of the world was carefully woven.
But the thread broke. And what was not destroyed… froze.
Amber is all that remains. A mineral memory. Fragments of a time we dare not name.
Ageless colossi wander beneath the torn skies. They are called the Wanderers. Some say they walk endlessly because the world never gave them back their names.
To survive, peoples have forged new bonds, new nations.
And among them, moving threads, made of wheels and silk, songs and countless faces. The caravans.
Each convoy is a bridge. A thread between the living. Between memory and the future. Between exile and promise.
They move forward, unchanging, slow and dusty, laden with provisions, secrets… and sometimes with oaths too heavy to bear.
And yet, in this frozen world… something returns.
A breath in the air, a vibration in the earth. A shiver in the amber. A hand reaching out through oblivion.
For here, everything begins again. In the shadow of a past that refuses to die.
Here.
Now.
Au Bord de l’Aube.
(Dawn Margin)
